Mattie comes to Memphis

I was scared. I was really, really scared. And there I was, driving around the airport parking lot, picking up ... who? Who was he really?

Well, his name is Matt -- Mattie, affectionately. I'd met him online when I was in 11th grade in Tennessee and he was in 8th grade in Michigan. I knew him before I knew Paul -- which is something that still blows my mind. I mean, I don't really remember a time before Paul. It's kinda like my life really started when I met him.

Anyway, I went off to college, Matt went off to high school ... and we kinda lost touch. Kinda. I mean every few months, there'd be an IM or an e-mail from one of us to the other. Life was hectic. I started putting in 14- or 15-hour days at the newspaper; he fell in with the "bad boys." And that was that. Very different lives punctuated by occasional contact. Once in a blue moon he'd call, but it was awkward.

Sometimes he'd tell me stories about his life. He lived on the streets for a while. He experimented with drugs, sold massive amounts of pot, bummed off friends ... and somehow found a way to survive. He'd IM now and then and ask if it bothered me. Of course it did! I'd known him since he was a child -- and I felt like I should be protecting him from a reality so harsh I'd never had to experience it myself. But even as I worried, I told him that I'd accept him no matter what he did, no matter how bad it got. I could question his behavior, disapprove of his choices, but I'd always accept him. That's what friends do.

And then he told me he wanted out. "Out?" I asked. Out of Michigan, he told me. Out of the lifestyle to which he'd grown accustomed. He said he wanted to travel. I said if he came through Memphis, I had an extra room he could borrow for a day or two. I made him promise he'd stay clean -- nothing illegal would come inside my house. He gave his word.

I never expected him to take me up on my offer. I figured somebody would talk him down and he'd end up staying in his world. But before I knew it, he had a plane ticket, and I had a bad case of anxiety. He told me not to worry; he could take care of himself. But I'd made a promise. And after eight years of very different lives taking us in the same direction, here I was, driving through the airport parking lot, looking for a guy I'd never seen.

I found him, told him to get in (dammit), and we were on our way. He was starting over. I was starting to relax. Fortunately, two people who have panic attacks seem to know how to handle each other. I've tried to make my house as non-threatening as possible; he hasn't broached any topic of conversation or action that sets me off.

This morning, I asked him the same thing I ask anyone I trust with my whole life and soul: Teach me. He grinned and asked me, "Teach you what?" I told him I wanted to know everything he knew. I wanted to know what made him tick. What he's picked up on the road the past few years. How it feels to be 20 years old and ... absolutely free. He mumbled a response, something about how I didn't need to know everything he's learned.

But that's just it. After eight years, I've become attached to the kid. As I said, he's my little bird. He sets off my "big sister instincts" and I feel like I should protect him -- even now. Even after he's seen things far worse than I could ever imagine. Even though he's very capable of taking care of himself (and me, too).

I've become resigned to the fact that before I know it, he will fly away, just like Ben Folds says in this song. He'll make friends here, find a place to stay, maybe get a (legitimate) job and push me into the back of his skull. And Paul and I will go on with our lives, work too much, play video games when we have time.

But in the next few days, I want to just shut up and listen. I believe there's a reason that after eight years, providence has placed Mattie on my doorstep. A wise woman once told me that I was searching for my place in this world, even after 24 years. And she said before I could find that place, I needed to listen and learn to remove the roadblocks around my heart.

So here I am. I don't know why he's here, or why you're here reading this, or why I'm here writing this. But I do know that wisdom comes in unlikely forms at unlikely times. And as long as I have breath in my body, I want to soak up the wisdom of those placed in my path.

And with that in mind, I want to share a quote that ended up in my inbox this morning. It rattled my brain around inside my head, the way that God's Debris did a few years ago. Here goes:

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park. And when you choose to go on it, you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. They buckle us in and the ride goes up and down and round and round. It has thrills and chills, and it's very brightly colored, and it's very loud, and it's fun and it's scary--for a while. Some people have been on the ride for a long time, and they begin to question, 'Is this real, or is this just a ride?' Some people start to forget what the ride is, and they all think, 'This ride must be real! Look at my job, look at my house, look at my car, look at my bank balance -- this must be real!' And other people have remembered, and they come back to us, they say, 'Hey -- don't worry, don't be afraid, ever, because, this is just a ride.' And we ... as a people ... kill those people."-- Bill Hicks